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SONNETS 


AND 


CANZONETS. 


BY 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 


"  Love  can  sun  the  realms  of  light." 

Schiller. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1882. 


Copyright,  1882, 
By  A.  Bronson  Alcott. 


University  Press: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


|m0tts  to  urttom  th*  Itomtrts  are  Addressed. 


Frank  B.  Sanborn . . i ' 

A.  BRONSON  Alcott  (an  carl v  picture    

Anna  Bronsos     Alcott)   Pratt 

Louisa  M  \  v  A  lco  it 

May  (Ai    on     Ni    rbker 

Louisa  M  \y  Niereker  |  infant 

Mrs.  Abbey  May  Ah.  on   

Dr.  Wm.  A.  Alcott 

Prof.  Wm.  Russell 

Wm.  II.  Furness,  D.D.,  Philadelphia 

Wm.  E.  Ch  inning,  D.I)..  Boston 

Elizabeth  Palmer  Peabody,  Cambridge 

Ralph  Waldo   Emerson.  Concord 


Margaret  Fuller 

Rev.  Wm.  H.  Channing,  London,  England.. 

Prof.  W.  T.  Harris.  St.  Louis 

Henry  David  Thoreau,  Concord 

5  5  55  '•  • J  .....    

Benjamin  Marston  Watson.  Plymouth.  Mat 


►a 

ge  39 

•  43 

•  7i 

•  75 

•  77 

•  s5 

•  87 

•  95 

•  97 

•  99 

.  IOI 

•  103 

•  1  "5 

.  1 07 

.  109 

.  in 

•  "3 

•  115 

. 

•  "7 

• 

•  "9 

,  121 

5 

■  123 

Miss  Ellen  A.  Chandler,  Boston Page  125 


Wm.  Ellery  Channing,  Concord 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  Concord 

Mrs.  Edner  Cheney,  Boston 

Rev.  C.  A.  Bartol,  Boston 

Wendell  Phillips,  Boston 

Rev.  S.  J.  May.  Syracuse,  N.  Y 

John  Brown.  Harper's  Ferry 

Rev.  Theo.  Parker,   Boston 

Wm.  Lloyd  Garrison.  Boston 

J.  A.  Garfield,  President  of  the  United  States 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  (read  at  his  funeral) 


129 
131 
133 
135 
137 
139 
141 

143 
H5 
147 
151 


ADDENDA. 

A.  Bronson  Alcott Frontispiece 

Title  Page From  an  ancient  print 

To  Concord Page  89 


Sutfjor'g  iHemoratttmm< 


Of  this  edition,  with  Portraits  and  Auto- 
graphy there  were  but  fifty  copies  printed ;  each 
numbered. 

T5tu.d...Q 


Subscribers*  Names< 


C.  H.  Ames Boston. 

Athen^um Boston. 

A.  Bronson  Alcott  (two  copies)  .     .  Concord,  Mass. 

George  A.  Armour Chicago. 

A.  P.  Chamberlaine Concord,  Mass. 

J.  Eastman  Chase Boston. 

Mary  E.  Crafts Boston. 

Joseph  George  Cupples      ....  Boston. 

Isaac  W.  Danforth Boston. 

Clarence  H.  Denny Boston. 

Otis  Everett Boston. 

Free  Library Worcester.  Mass. 

W.  H.  Greeley Lexington,  Mass. 

W.   H.  Halliday Boston. 

W.  T.  Harris St.  Louis,  Mo. 

A.  L.  Hollingsworth  (two  copies)    .  Boston. 

L.  L.   Hubbard Cambridge,  Mass. 

David  Hunt Boston. 

T.  Sterry  Hunt Boston. 

Mrs.  H.  B.  Goodwin Boston. 


SUBSCRIBERS'   NAMES. 

F.  G.  Garrison Boston. 

B.  A.  Kimball Concord,  N.  H. 

F.  J.  Kingsbury Waterbury,  Conn, 

Mrs.  James  Lawrence Boston. 

Lee  &  Shepard Boston. 

Leslie  Millar  (two  copies)  ....  Boston. 

L.  H.  Marshall Chelsea,  Mass. 

Rev.  W.  Mitchell St.  John,  N.  B. 

W.  T.  Newton Boston. 

Thomas  Niles Boston. 

M.  P.  Norton Boston. 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly Boston. 

W.  T.  Piper Cambridge,  Mass. 

Public  Library Boston. 

Alexander  H.  Rice Boston. 

Mrs.  D.  S.  Richardson Lowell,  Mass. 

F.  B.  Sanborn Concord,  Mass. 

Walter  L.  Sawyer New  York. 

Mrs.  S.  B.  Schlesinger Boston. 

J.  M.  Stoddard  &  Co Philadelphia. 

Rev.  J.  H.  Ward Boston. 

Lilian  Whiting Boston. 

Mrs.  Henry  Whitman Boston. 

Isaac  D.  White,  Jr Worcester,  Mass. 

Alexander  Williams Boston. 

John  P.  Woodbury Boston. 

J.  E.  Woods Boston. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

PAGE 

To  A.  Bronson  Alcott,  a  Letter  by  F.  B.  Sanborn  5-10 

An  Essay  on  the  Sonnet u-35 

Sonnets  of  Illustration 21-35 

I.     Love  in  Spring 21 

II.     The  Maiden  in  April 22 

III.  The  Estrangement 23 

IV.  Love  in  Time 24 

V.     To  those  of  Noble  Heart 24 

VI.     The  Ocean  a  blessed  God 27 

VII.     The  Nightingale 2S 

VIII.     The  Fair  Saint 29 

IX.     Love  a  Poor  Palmer 30 

X.     Love  against  Love 31 

XL     Death 32 

XII.     Ah,  Sweet  Content  1 34 

XIII.     The  Poet's  Immortality 34 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PART   FIRST. 

PACK 

Proem 39 

Domestic  Sonnets  and  Canzonets 41-89 

PART   SECOND. 

Sonnets  of  Character 94-M5 

A  Prophetic  Ode 146-149 


Emerson     .    .    .   - 151 


TO 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT, 


UPON    READING    HIS    OCTOGENARIAN    POEMS. 


r  I  ^HE  period  to  which  the  scholar  of  two  and 
eighty  years  belongs,  is  seldom  that  of  his 
youngest  readers :  it  is  more  likely  to  be  the 
epoch  of  his  own  golden  youth,  when  his  masters 
were  before  his  eyes,  and  his  companions  were 
the  books  and  the  friends  of  his  heart.  Thus  the 
aged  Landor  could  not  bring  his  thoughts  down 
from  the  grand  forms  of  Greek  and  Roman  litera- 
ture to  which  they  were  early  accustomed ;  he 
had  swerved  now  and  then  from  that  loyalty  in 
middle  life,  impressed  and  acted  upon  as  he  was 
by   the  great   political  events  of  the  Napoleonic 


6  A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 

era, —  but  he  returned  to  the  epigram  and  the 
idyl  in  the  "  white  winter  of  his  age,"  and  the 
voices  of  the  present  and  of  the  future  appealed 
to  him  in  vain.  In  the  old  Goethe  there  was 
something  more  prophetic  and  august;  he  came 
nearer  to  his  contemporaries,  and  prepared  the 
way  for  a  recognition  of  his  greatness  by  the  gene- 
ration which  saw  the  grave  close  over  him.  In 
this,  that  strange  but  loyal  disciple  of  his,  the 
Scotch  Carlyle,  rendered  matchless  service  to  his 
master;  yet  he,  too,  in  his  unhappy  old  age, 
could  only  at  intervals,  and  by  gleams  of  inspira- 
tion,—  as  at  the  Edinburgh  University  Festival, — 
come  into  communication  with  the  young  spirits 
about  him.  To  you,  dear  Friend  and  Master,  be- 
longs the  rare  good  fortune  (good  genius  rather) 
that  has  brought  you  in  these  late  days,  into  closer 
fellowship  than  of  yore  with  the  active  and  forth- 
looking  spirit  of  the  time.  In  youth  and  middle 
life  you  were  in  advance  of  your  period,  which 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT.  y 

has  only  now  overtaken  you  when  it  must,  by  the 
ordinance  of  Nature,  so  soon  bid  you  farewell,  as 
you  go  forward  to  new  prospects,  in  fairer  worlds 
than  ours. 

It  is  this  union  of  youth  and  age,  of  the  past 
and  the  present  —  yes,  and  the  future  also  —  that 
I  have  admired  in  these  artless  poems,  over  which 
we  have  spent  together  so  many  agreeable  hours. 
Fallen  upon  an  age  in  literature  when  the  poetic 
form  is  everywhere  found,  but  the  discerning  and 
inventive  spirit  of  Poesy  seems  almost  lost,  I 
have  marked  with  delight  in  these  octogenarian 
verses,  flowing  so  naturally  from  your  pen,  the 
very  contradiction  of  this  poetic  custom  of  the 
period.  Your  want  of  familiarity  with  the  ac- 
customed movement  of  verse  in  our  time,  brings 
into  more  distinct  notice  the  genuine  poetical 
motions  of  your  genius.  Having  been  admitted 
to  the  laboratory,  and  privileged  to  witness  the 
action  and  reaction  of  your  thought,  as  it  crystal- 


8  A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 

lized  into  song,  I  perceived,  for  the  first  time, 
how  high  sentiment,  by  which  you  have  from 
youth  been  inspired,  may  become  the  habitual 
movement  of  the  mind,  at  an  age  when  so  many, 
if  they  live  at  all  in  spirit,  are  but  nursing  the 
selfish  and  distorted  fancies  of  morose  singularity. 
To  you  the  world  has  been  a  brotherhood  of  noble 
souls,  —  too  few,  as  we  thought,  for  your  compan- 
ionship,—  but  which  you  have  enlarged  by  the 
admission  to  one  rank  of  those  who  have  gone, 
and  of  us  who  remain  to  love  you  and  listen  to 
your  oracles.  The  men  and  the  charming  women 
who  recognized  your  voice  when  it  was  that  of 
one  crying  in  the  wilderness  — "  Prepare  ye  the 
way  of  our  Lord,"  are  joined,  in  your  commemo- 
rative sonnets,  with  those  who  hearken  to  its 
later  accents,  proclaiming  the  same  acceptable 
year  of  the  Lord. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  poets  —  immemorial   and 
native  to  the  clan  —  that   they  should   share  the 


A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT.  g 

immortality  they  confer.  This  right  you  may 
vindicate  for  your  own.  The  honors  you  pay, 
in  resounding  verse,  to  Channing,  to  Emerson,  to 
Margaret  Fuller,  to  Hawthorne,  Thoreau,  and  the 
rest  of  the  company  with  whom  you  trod  these 
groves,  and  honored  these  altars  of  the  Spirit  un- 
named, return  in  their  echoes  to  yourself.  They 
had  their  special  genius,  and  you  yours  no  less, 
though  it  found  not  the  same  expression  with 
theirs.  We  please  our  love  with  the  thought  that, 
in  these  sonnets  and  canzonets  of  affection,  you 
have  celebrated  yourself  with  them ;  that  the  swift 
insight,  the  ennobling  passion  for  truth  and  virtue, 
the  high  resolve,  the  austere  self-sacrifice,  the 
gentle  submission  to  a  will  eternally  right,  in  which 
these  friends,  so  variously  gifted,  found  a  common 
tie,  —  all  these  are  yours  also,  —  and  may  they 
be  ours  !  The  monuments  and  trophies  of  genius 
are  perishable,  but  the  soul's  impression  abides 
forever,  forma  mentis  cetema.     To  that  imperish- 


IO  A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 

able,  ever-beauteous,  self-renouncing,  loyal,  and 
steadfast  Spirit  of  the  Universe  which  we  learned 
to  worship  in  our  youth,  and  which  has  never  for- 
saken our  age  and  bereavement,  may  these  offer- 
ings, and  all  that  we  are,  be  consecrated  now  and 
forever ! 

F.  B.  SANBORN. 

Concord,  January  i,  1882. 


AN   ESSAY 


ON   THE 


SONNET   AND   THE   CANZONET. 


THE 


SONNET  AND  THE   CANZONET. 


"  OCORN  not  the  sonnet,"  said  Wordsworth, 
and  then  gave  us  at  least  fifty  noble 
reasons  why  we  should  not,  —  for  so  many  at 
least  of  his  innumerable  sonnets  are  above  lan- 
guor and  indifference,  and  all  of  them  above 
contempt.  Milton  was  more  self-restrained  than 
Wordsworth,  and  wrote  fewer  sonnets,  every  one 
of  which  is  a  treasure,  either  for  beauty  of  verse, 
nobility  of  thought,  happy  portraiture  of  persons, 
or  quaint  and  savage  humor,  —  like  that  on  "  Te- 
trachordon,"   and  the  elongated  sonnet  in  which 


14 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 


he  denounces  the  Presbyterians,  and  tells  them 
to  their  face,  "  New  Presbyter  is  but  old  Priest 
writ  large."  Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart  with 
sonnets  in  another  key  than  Milton's,  —  less  con- 
formed to  the  model  of  the  Italian  sonnet,  but 
more  in  keeping  with  English  verse,  of  which 
Shakespeare  had  the  entire  range.  His  sonnets 
are  but  quatrains  following  each  other  by  threes, 
with  a  resounding  couplet  binding  them  together 
in  one  sheaf,  and  his  example  has  made  this  form 
of  the  sonnet  legitimate  for  all  who  write  Eng- 
lish verse,  —  no  matter  what  the  studious  or  the 
pedantic  may  say.  Surrey  also,  who  first  used 
the  sonnet  in  English,  wrote  it  in  this  free  man- 
ner of  Shakespeare,  as  well  as  in  the  somewhat 
stricter  form  that  Sidney  employed,  and  it  is  only 
of  late  years  that  they  have  tried  to  shut  us  up 
to  one  definite  and  unchanging  sequence  and 
interplay  of  rhyme.  Mr.  Alcott  in  these  new 
sonnets,  the  ripe  fruit  of  an  aged  tree,  has  used 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 


15 


the  freedom  that  nature  gave  him,  and  years 
allow:  he  has  written  with  little  uniformity  in 
the  order  and  number  of  his  rhymes,  but  with 
much  regard  to  the  spirit  of  the  sonnet  as  a 
high  form  of  verse.  I  fancy  that  Dante  (who  may 
be  called  the  father  of  the  sonnet,  though  not 
the  first  to  write  it)  chose  this  graceful  and 
courteous  verse,  because  it  is  so  well  suited  to 
themes  of  love  and  friendship.  When  he  would 
express  sorrow  or  anger,  or  light  and  jesting 
humor,  he  had  recourse  to  the  canzonet,  the 
terza  rima,  or  what  he  called  the  ballad,  —  some- 
thing quite  unlike  what  we  know  by  that  name. 
Mr.  Alcott  has  followed  in  the  same  general 
course;  his  sonnets  are  one  thing,  his  canzonets 
another:  though  the  difference  in  feeling,  which 
prompts  him  to  use  one  form  rather  than  the 
other,  cannot  always  be  definitely  expressed.  It 
is  felt  rather  than  seen,  and  seen  rather  by  the 
effect  of  the  finished  poem  than  by  the  light  of 
any  rule  or  formal  definition. 


!6        the  sonnet  and  the  canzonet 

Definiteness,  in  fact,  must  not  be  looked  for  in 
these  poems ;  nor  is  it  the  characteristic  of  the 
highest  poetry  in  any  language.  Verse  may  be 
powerful  and  suggestive,  or  even  clear  in  the  sense 
of  producing  a  distinct  impression  on  the  mind, 
without  being  definite,  and  responding  to  all  the 
claims  of  analysis.  I  take  it  that  few  readers  will 
fail  to  see  the  central  thought,  or  the  vivid  portrai- 
ture in  each  of  these  sonnets  and  canzonets ;  but 
fewer  still  will  be  able  to  explain  precisely,  even  to 
their  own  minds,  what  each  suggestive  phrase  and 
period  includes  and  excludes  in  its  meaning.  For 
this  fine  vagueness  of  utterance,  the  sonnet  has 
always  given  poets  a  fair  field,  and  our  present 
author  has  not  gone  beyond  his  due  privilege  in  this 
respect,  though  he  has  availed  himself  of  it  more 
frequently  than  many  would  have  done.  The  mot- 
toes and  citations  accompanying  each  sonnet  may 
help  the  reader  to  a  meaning  that  does  not  at  once 
flash  in  his  eyes.     But  he  must  not  expect  to  con- 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET 


17 


quer  these  verses  at  a  single  reading.  The  thought 
of  years,  the  labor  of  months,  has  been  given  to  the 
writing  of  them  ;  and  the  reader  ought  not  to  com- 
plain if  he  take  as  much  time  to  comprehend  them 
as  the  author  took  to  write  them.  They  are  worth 
the  pains  of  reading  many  times  over,  and  even  of 
learning  them  by  heart,  for  which  their  compendi- 
ous form  well  fits  them. 

It  may  be  complained  that  these  sonnets  lack 
variety.  This  is  indeed  a  fault  into  which  sonnet- 
eers often  fall, —  our  best  collection  of  American 
sonnets  hitherto  —  those  of  Jones  Very  —  being 
open  to  this  censure.  It  will  be  found,  perhaps, 
that  the  sameness  of  rhyme  and  thought  is  often 
but  an  appearance,  —  the  delicate  shade  of  meaning 
being  expressed,  in  a  vocabulary  of  no  large  extent, 
by  a  rare  process  of  combining  and  collocating 
words.  Certain  phrases  recur,  too,  because  the 
thought  necessarily  recurs,  —  as  when  the  oratory 
of  Phillips  and  of  Parker,  as  of  others,  is  character- 


jg        the  sonnet  and  the  canzonet. 

ized  by  the  general  term,  eloquence.  In  the  poverty 
of  our  language,  there  is  no  other  term  to  use,  while 
the  qualifying  words  and  their  connection  suffi- 
ciently distinguish  between  one  person  and  another. 
The  critical  are  referred  to  Homer,  who  never  fails 
to  repeat  the  same  word,  or  the  same  verse,  when 
it  comes  in  his  way  to  do  so. 

But  to  return  to  the  sonnet  itself.  Landor,  to 
whom  as  to  Thoreau,  Milton  was  the  greatest  Eng- 
lish poet,  thought  that  the  blind  Puritan  had  made 
good  his  offence  against  the  Psalms  of  David,  by 
the  sonnet  on  the  slaughtered  saints  of  Piedmont. 
"  Milton, "  he  says,  "  was  never  half  so  wicked  a 
regicide  as  when  he  lifted  up  his  hand  and  smote 
King  David.  He  has  atoned  for  it,  however,  by 
composing  a  magnificent  psalm  of  his  own,  in  the 
form  of  a  sonnet.  There  are  others  in  Milton  com- 
parable to  it,  but  none  elsewhere."  And  then  the 
wilful  critic  goes  on  to  say,  putting  his  words  into 
the  mouth  of  Porson :   "  In  the  poems  of  Shake- 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET 


19 


speare,  which  are  printed  as  sonnets,  there  is  some- 
times a  singular  strength  and  intensity  of  thought, 
with  little  of  that  imagination  which  was  afterward 
to  raise  him  highest  in  the  universe  of  poetry. 
Even  the  interest  we  take  in  the  private  life  of  this 
miraculous  man,  cannot  keep  the  volume  in  our 
hands  long  together.  We  acknowledge  great  power, 
but  we  experience  great  weariness.  Were  I  a  poet, 
I  would  much  rather  have  written  the  '  Allegro,' 
or  the  'Penseroso'  than  all  those."  Monstrous  as 
this  comment  seems  to  us,  there  is  a  certain  truth 
in  it,  the  sonnet  in  large  quantities  always  producing 
weariness;  for  which  reason,  as  I  suppose,  Dante 
interspersed  his  love  sonnets  in  the  "  Vita  Nuova" 
and  the  "  Convito,"  with  canzonets  and  ballads. 
His  commentaries  —  often  of  a  singular  elo- 
quence—  also  serve  as  a  relief  to  the  formal  verse, 
as  his  melodious  Tuscan  lines  do  to  the  formality 
of  his  poetical  metaphysics.  A  person,  says  Lan- 
dor,  "  lately  tried  to  persuade  me  that  he  is  never  so 


20  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 

highly  poetical,  as  when  he  is  deeply  metaphysical. 
He  then  quoted  fourteen  German  poets  of  the  first 
order,  and  expressed  his  compassion  for  ^Eschylus 
and  Homer."  Dante's  metaphysics  were  of  a 
higher  cast,  and  so  interfused  with  love  and  fair 
ladies,  that  they  only  weary  us  with  a  certain  per- 
plexity as  to  where  are  the  limits  of  courtship  and 
of  logic.  Mr.  Alcott  also  is  quaintly  metaphysical 
in  Dante's  fashion;  like  the  sad  old  Florentine, 
but  with  a  more  cheerful  spirit,  he  addresses  him- 
self 

"To  every  captive  soul  and  gentle  heart," 
(A  ciascun  alma  presa  e  gentil  core,) 

and  would  fain  inquire  of  those  who  go  on  a  pil- 
grimage of  Love  (O  voi  che  per  la  via  d'  Amor 
passate)  and  of  the  fair  ladies  who  have  learned 
love  at  first  hand  (Donne  che  avete  intelletto 
d'  amore).  His  doctrine  is  that  of  the  wise  man 
whom  Dante  quotes  and  approves  in  the  "Vita 
Nuova,"  — 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 


21 


"One  and  the  same  are  love  and  the  gentle  heart." 
(Amor  e'  1  cor  gentil  sono  una  cosa.) 

Other  Americans  have  written  sonnets  in  this 
ancient  faith,  — as  he,  who  thus  (in  that  happy 
season  so  aptly  described  by  Mr.  Alcott,  as 

"Youth's  glad  morning  when  the  rising  East 
Glows  golden  with  assurance  of  success, 
And  life  itself 's  a  rare  continual  feast, 
Enjoyed  the  more  if  meditated  less,") 

addressed  his  own  cor  gentil:  — 

"My  heart,  forthlooking  in  the  purple  day, 
Tell  me  what  sweetest  image  thou  may'st  see, 
Fit  to  be  type  of  thy  dear  love  and  thee? 
Lo  !  here  where  sunshine  keeps  the  wind  away, 

Grow  two  young  violets,  —  humble  lovers  they, 

With  drooping  face  to  face,  and  breath  to  breath, 
They  look  and  kiss  and  love  and  laugh  at  death:  — 
Yon  bluebird  singing  on  the  scarlet  spray 


22  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 

Of  the  bloomed  maple  in  the  blithe  spring  air, 

While  his  mate  answers  from  the  wood  of  pines, 

And  all  day  long  their  music  ne'er  declines ; 

For  love  their  labor  is,  and  love  their  care. 

'  These  pass  with  day  and  spring ; '  the  true  heart  saith, — 

'  Forever  thou  wilt  love,  and  she  be  fair.'  " 

In  the  same  Italian  vein,  another  and  better 
poet,  but  with  less  warmth,  touches  the  same 
theme,  — 

"Thou  art  like  that  which  is  most  sweet  and  fair, 

A  gentle  morning  in  the  youth  of  spring, 

When  the  few  early  birds  begin  to  sing 

WTithin  the  delicate  depths  of  the  fine  air. 

Yet  shouldst  thou  these  dear  beauties  much  impair, 

Since  thou  art  better  than  is  everything 

Which  or  the  woods  or  skies  or  green  fields  bring, 

And  finer  thoughts  hast  thou  than  they  can  wear. 

In  the  proud  sweetness  of  thy  grace  I  see 

What  lies  within,  —  a  pure  and  steadfast  mind, 

Which  its  own  mistress  is  of  sanctity, 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET  2$ 

And  to  all  gentleness  hath  been  refined, 
So  that  thy  least  breath  falleth  upon  me 
As  the  soft  breathing  of  midsummer  wind. 


But  soon  sadness  succeeds  to  this  assured  joy, — 

"  The  day  has  past,  I  never  may  return ; 
Twelve  circling  years  have  run  since  first  I  came 
And  kindled  the  pure  truth  of  friendship's  flame. 
Alone  remain  these  ashes  in  the  urn, — 
Vainly  for  light  the  taper  may  I  turn, 
Thy  hand  is  closed,  as  for  these  years  the  same, 
And  for  the  substance  naught  is  but  the  name. 
No  more  a  hope,  no  more  a  ray  to  burn  ; 
But  once  more  in  the  pauses  of  thy  joy, 
Remember  him  who  sought  thee  in  his  youth, 
And  with  the  old  reliance  of  the  boy 
Asked  for  thy  treasure  in  the  guise  of  truth. 
The  air  is  thick  with  sighs,  —  the  shaded  sun 
Shows  on  the  hillside  that  the  day  is  done." 

Another  voice  chants  in  another  strain,  — 


24 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET 


"Thy  beauty  fades,  and  with  it,  too,  my  love, 
For  'twas  the  selfsame  stalk  that  bore  the  flower; 
Soft  fell  the  rain,  and,  breaking  from  above, 
The  sun  looked  out  upon  our  nuptial  hour; 
And  I  had  thought  forever  by  thy  side 
With  bursting  buds  of  hope  in  youth  to  dwell ; 
But  one  by  one  Time  strewed  thy  petals  wide, 
And  every  hope's  wan  look  a  grief  can  tell ; 
For  I  had  thoughtless  lived  beneath  his  sway, 
Who  like  a  tyrant  dealeth  with  us  all,  — 
Crowning  each  rose,  though  rooted  in  decay, 
With  charms  that  shall  the  spirit's  love  enthral, 
And,  for  a  season,  turn  the  soul's  pure  eyes 
From  virtue's  bloom  that  time  and  death  defies." 

Out  of  this  valley  of  sadness  the  spirit  rises  on 
bolder  wing,  as  the  melancholy  mood  passes 
away,  — 

"  Hearts  of  eternity,  hearts  of  the  deep  ! 
Proclaim  from  land  to  sea  your  mighty  fate ; 
How  that  for  you  no  living  comes  too  late, 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET  2$ 

How  ye  cannot  in  Theban  labyrinth  creep, 
How  ye  great  harvests  from  small  surface  reap, 
Shout,  excellent  band,  in  grand  primeval  strain, 
Like  midnight  winds  that  foam  along  the  main, — 
And  do  all  things  rather  than  pause  to  weep. 
A  human  heart  knows  naught  of  littleness, 
Suspects  no  man,  compares  with  no  one's  ways, 
Hath  in  one  hour  most  glorious  length  of  days, 
A  recompense,  a  joy,  a  loveliness ; 
Like  eaglet  keen,  shoots  into  azure  far, 
And  always  dwelling  nigh  is  the  remotest  star." 

Here,  as  Landor  said,  "  is  a  sonnet,  and  the 
sonnet  admits  not  that  approach  to  the  prosaic 
which  is  allowable  in  the  ballad."  For  this  rea- 
son Mr.  Alcott,  who  began  his  poetical  autobi- 
ography, when  he  was  eighty  years  old,  in  a 
ballad  measure,  has  now  passed  into  the  majesty 
of  the  sonnet,  as  he  has  come  to  those  passages 
of  life  which  will  not  admit  prosaic  treatment. 
Moderately   used,    and    not  worked   to    death,  as 


26  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 

Wordsworth  employed  it,  the  sonnet  is  a  great 
uplifter  of  poesy.  It  calls  to  the  reader,  as  the 
early  Christian  litanies  did  to  the  worshipper, 
Sursurn  corda,  Raise  your  thoughts !  The  can- 
zonet lets  us  down  again  into  the  pathetic,  the 
humorous,  or  the  fanciful,  —  though  in  this  vol- 
ume the  canzonet  generally  betokens  sadness.  It 
may  easily  become  an  ode,  as  in  the  verses  on 
Garfield:  indeed  the  ode  may  be  considered  as 
an  extended  canzonet,  or  the  canzonet  as  a  brief 
ode.  It  is  the  sonnet  that  chiefly  concerns  us 
now,  and  that  form  of  the  sonnet  which  deals 
with  love;  since  the  germ  of  this  book  was  a 
romance  of  love,  seeking  to  express  itself  in  the 
uplifting  strain  and  tender  cadence  of  successive 
sonnets;  which  lead  us  though  green  pastures  and 
beside  the  still  waters,  and  then  to  the  shore  of 
the  resounding  sea,  —  itself  worthy  of  a  sonnet 
which  I  have  somewhere  heard :  — 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 


2/ 


"  Ah  mournful  Sea  !     Yet  to  our  eyes  he  wore 
The  placid  look  of  some  great  god  at  rest; 
With  azure  arms  he  clasped  the  embracing  shore, 
While  gently  heaved  the  billows  of  his  breast ; 
We  scarce  his  voice  could  hear,  and  then  it  seemed 
The  happy  murmur  of  a  lover  true, 
Who,  in  the  sweetness  of  his  sleep,  hath  dreamed 
Of  kisses  falling  on  his  lips  like  dew. 
Far  off,  the  blue  and  gleaming  hills  above, 
The  Sun  looked  through  his  veil  of  thinnest  haze, 
As  coy  Diana,  blushing  at  her  love, 
Half  hid  with  her  own  light  her  earnest  gaze, 
When  on  the  shady  Latmian  slope  she  found 
Fair-haired  Endymion  slumbering  on  the  ground." 

This  is  one  picture  in  the  kaleidoscope  of  Aphro- 
dite, who  was  a  sea-born  goddess,  and  partial  to 
her  native  element.  Yet  it  is  not  through  the  eye 
alone  that  she  ensnares  us,  but  with  the  music  of 
birds,  —  and  in  poetry  her  own  darling  bird  is  not 
the  dove,  but  the  nightingale,  —  a  stranger  to  our 


28  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 

orchards  and  forests,  but  familiar  to  the  groves  of 
the  Muse.  A  poet,  by  no  means  happy  in  his 
love  in  after  years,  thus  saluted  this  bird,  with 
music  as  sweet  as  her  own, — 

"O  Nightingale,  that  on  yon  bloomy  spray, 
Warblest  at  eve,  when  all  the  woods  are  still, 
Thou  with  fresh  hope  the  lover's  heart  doth  fill, 
While  the  jolly  Hours  lead  on  propitious  May. 
Thy  liquid  notes,  that  close  the  eye  of  day, 
First  heard  before  the  shallow  cuckoo's  bill,  • 
Portend  success  in  love ;  O,  if  Jove's  will 
Have  linked  that  amorous  power  to  thy  soft  lay, 
Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  bird  of  hate 
Foretell  my  hopeless  doom  in  some  grove  nigh ; 
As  thou  from  year  to  year  hast  sung  too  late 
For  my  relief,  yet  hadst  no  reason  why; 
Whether  the  Muse,  or  Love  call  thee  his  mate, 
Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I." 

This  is  plainly  a  fabricated  song,  not  poured  out 
from  the  heart,   though  full   of   melodious   fancy. 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET.  2g 

More  natural  and  earnest  is  the  tone  in  which  our 
poet  soon  after  praises  one  who  had  passed  un- 
heeding by  the  bower  of  love,  and  devoted  herself 
to  a  life  of  piety  and  good  deeds.  We  cannot 
guess  who  she  was,  but  such  saints  are  seen  in 
every  land  and  age. 

"Lady,  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth 
Wisely  hast  shunned  the  broad  way  and  the  green, 
And  with  those  few  art  eminently  seen 
That  labor  up  the  hill  of  heavenly  truth,  — 
The  better  part  with  Mary  and  with  Ruth, 
Chosen  thou  hast ;  and  they  that  overween, 
And  at  thy  growing  virtues  fret  their  spleen, 
No  anger  find  in  thee,  but  pity  and  ruth. 
Thy  care  is  fixed,  and  zealously  attends 
To  fill  thy  odorous  lamp  with  deeds  of  light, 
And  hope  that  reaps  not  shame.     Therefore  be  sure 
Thou,  when  the  bridegroom  with  his  feastful  friends 
Passes  to  bliss  at  the  mid  hour  of  night, 
Hast  gained  thy  entrance,  virgin  wise  and  pure." 


o0  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 

It  is  a  truth  for  the  initiated  that  love  begins 
with  worship,  and  favors  piety  in  its  first  ap- 
proaches ;  and  we  need  not  wonder  if  the  devout 
poet  in  due  time  paid  his  amorous  addresses  to 
this  bride  of  the  Spirit,  whose  lamp  must  have  been 
dim,  indeed,  if  it  did  not  reveal  to  her  the  lover 
in  disguise  of  the  brother  in  Israel.  A  poet  of  our 
day,  in  a  sonnet  somewhat  faulty  in  form,  but  true 
to  the  faith  of  your  pilgrim-vow,  ye  happy  palmers 
of  Love,  — 

"  O  voi  che  per  la  via  d'  Amor  passate  ! " 
has  written  as  follows :  — 

"'As  calmest  waters  mirror  Heaven  the  best, 
So  best  befit  remembrances  of  thee 
Calm  holy  hours  from  earthly  passion  free, 
Sweet  twilight  musing,  —  Sabbaths  in  the  breast. 
No  stooping  thought,  nor  any  grovelling  care, 
The  sacred  whiteness  of  that  place  shall  stain, 
Where,  far  from  heartless  joys  and  rites  profane, 
Memory  has  reared  to  thee  an  altar  fair. 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET. 


31 


Yet  frequent  visitors  shall  kiss  the  shrine, 

And  ever  keep  its  vestal  lamp  alight; 

All  noble  thoughts,  all  dreams  divinely  bright, 

That  waken  or  delight  this  soul  of  mine.' 

So  Love,  meek  pilgrim  !   his  young  vows  did  pay, 

With  glowing  eyes  that  must  his  lips  gainsay." 

A  higher  gospel  is  preached  in  the  sonnet  of 
another  American  poet,  who  has  written  too  few 
verses,  —  or  rather  has  published  too  few  of  the 
many  he  has  composed. 

"As  unto  blooming  roses,  summer  dews, 
Or  morning's  amber  to  the  tree-top  choirs, 
So  to  my  bosom  are  the  beams  that  use 
To  rain  on  me  from  eyes  that  Love  inspires ; 
Your  love,  —  vouchsafe  it,  royal-hearted  Few,  — 
And  I  will  set  no  common  price  thereon ; 
O,  I  will  keep,  as  Heaven  his  holy  blue, 
Or  Night  her  diamonds,  that  dear  treasure  won. 
But  aught  of  inward  faith  must  I  forego, 
Or  miss  one  drop  from  Truth's  baptismal  hand, 


32 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET 


Think  poorer  thoughts,  pray  cheaper  prayers,  and  grow 
Less  worthy  trust,  to  meet  your  hearts'  demand  : 
Farewell !  your  wish  I  for  your  sake  deny ; 
Rebel  to  love  in  truth  to  love  am  I." 

A  poet  who  has  been  more  than  once  quoted  in 
this  essay,  saw  no  sharp  hostility  between  Love 
and  Death,  —  those  reputed  foes,  —  but  thus  ad- 
dressed the  last  earthly  benefactor  of  mankind :  — 

"  O  Death  !  thou  art  the  palace  of  our  hopes, 
The  storehouse  of  our  joys,  —  great  labor's  end." 

His  friend,  confronting  the  same  inevitable  guest, 
questioned  the  dark  angel,  in  these  lines,  that  con- 
form to  the  rule  of  the  sonnet  in  spirit,  if  not  in 
rhyme :  — 

"  What  strange  deep  secret  dost  thou  hold,  O  Death  ! 
To  hallow  those  thou  claimest  for  thine  own? 
That  which  the  open  book  could  never  teach, 
The  closed  one  whispers,  as  we  stand  alone 


THE  SONNET  AND    THE  CANZONET  33 

By  one,  how  more  alone  than  we  !  —  and  strive 
To  comprehend  the  passion  of  that  peace. 
In  vain  our  thoughts  would  wind  within  the  heart, 
The  heart  of  this  great  mystery  of  release  !  — 
Baptism  of  Death  —  which  steepest  infant  eyes 
In  grace  of  calm  that  saints  might  hope  to  wear, 
Whose  cold  touch  purifies  the  guilty  brow, 
And  sets  again  the  seal  of  childhood  there  — 
Our  line  of  life  in  vain  would  sound  thy  sea, 
That  which  we  seek  to  know,  —  we  soon  shall  be." 

Let  me  now  close  this  garland  of  sonnets  with 
two  choice  flowers  from  that  garden  of  Elizabeth 
which  no  modern  botanist  and  no  anthologist  of 
ancient  fame  can  equal  in  fragrance  and  amaran- 
thine beauty.  Both  breathe  the  sweetness  of  Love, 
—  the  first,  from  the  "  Parthenophe  and  Partheno- 
phil  "  of  Barnaby  Barnes,  with  some  flavor  of  dis- 
content,—  but  the  second,  taken  from  the  warm 
hand  of  Shakespeare,  is  full  of  that  noble  confi- 
dence, which  he,  of  all  poets,  most  naturally  in- 
spires. 


34  THE  SONNET  AND    THE   CANZONET 

"  Ah,  sweet  Content !   where  is  thy  mild  abode  ? 
Is  it  with  shepherds  and  light-hearted  swains, 
Which  sing  upon  the  downs  and  pipe  abroad, 
Tending  their  flocks  and  cattle  on  the  plains? 
Ah,  sweet  Content !    where  dost  thou  safely  rest  ? 
In  heaven?  with  angels  which  the  praises  sing 
Of  Him  that  made  and  rules  at  his  behest 
The  minds  and  hearts  of  every  living  thing? 
Ah,  sweet  Content !  where  does  thy  harbor  hold  ? 
Is  it  in  churches  with  religious  men, 
Which  please  the  gods  with  prayers  manifold, 
And  in  their  studies  meditate  it  then? 
Whether  thou  dost  on  heaven  or  earth  appear, 
Be  where  thou  wilt,  thou  wilt  not  harbor  here." 

And  now  upon  this  delicious  disconsolate  stro- 
phe, hear  the  brave  turn  and  reply  of  Shakespeare's 
antistrophe,  —  and  take  it  for  your  consolation, 
lovers  and  poets  !  — 

"Not  mine  own  fears,  nor  the  prophetic  soul 
Of  the  wide  world,  dreaming  on  things  to  come, 


THE  SONNET  AND   THE  CANZONET.  35 

Can  yet  the  lease  of  my  true  love  control, 

Supposed  as  forfeit  to  a  confined  doom. 

The  mortal  moon  hath  her  eclipse  endured, 

And  the  sad  augurs  mock  their  own  presage ; 

Incertainties  now  crown  themselves  assured, 

And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age. 

Now  with  the  drops  of  this  most  balmy  time 

My  love  looks  fresh,  and  Death  to  me  subscribes, 

Since,  spite  of  him,  I'll  live  in  this  poor  rhyme, 

While  he  insults  o'er  dull  and  speechless  tribes  : 

And  thou  in  this  shalt  find  thy  monument, 

When  tyrants'  crests  and  tombs  of  brass  are  spent." 

F.   B.   S. 

February  6,  1882. 


SONNETS    AND    CANZONETS. 


"These  quiet  and  green  places,  these  mountains  and  valleys, 
were  created  by  Nature  on  purpose  for  loving  hearts." 

Meli's  Canzonets. 


"Be  it  that  my  unseasonable  song 
Come  out  of  time,  that  fault  is  in  the  time ; 
And  I  must  ?iot  do    Virtue  so  much  wrong, 
As  love  her  aught  the  worse  for  others'*  crime; 
And  yet  I  find  some  blessed  spirits  among 
That  cherish  me,  and  like  and  grace  my  rhyme? 

Daniel. 


PROEM. 

T    ONG  left  unwounded  by  the  grisly  foe, 

Who  sometime  pierces  all  with  fatal  shaft, 
Still  on  my  cheek  fresh  youth  did  lively  glow, 
And  at  his  threatening  arrow  gaily  laught; 
Came  then  my  friendly  scholar,  and  we  quaffed 
From  learning's  spring,  its  sparkling  overflow; 
All  through  the  lingering  evening's  charmed  hours, 
Delightful  fellowship  in  thought  was  ours : 
If  I  from  Poesy  could  not  all  abstain, 
He  my  poor  verses  oft  did  quite  undress, 
New  wrapt  in  words  my  thought's  veiled  naked- 
ness, 
Or  kindly  dipt  my  steed's  luxuriant  mane : 
Twas  my  delight  his  searching  eye  to  meet, 
In  days  of  genial  versing,  memories  sweet. 

January  i,  18S2. 


PART   I. 


O  Spring,  thou  youthful  beauty  of  the  year, 
Mother  of  flowers,  bri?iger  of  warbling  quires, 
Of  all  sweet  new  green  things,  and  new  desires" 

Guarini's  Pastor  Fido. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  43 


I. 


Auspicious  morn,  com'st  opportune,  unbought? 
Bring'st  thou  glad  furtherance  in  thy  rosy  train? 
Speed  then,  my  chariot,  following  fast  my  thought, 
And  distance  on  thy  track  the  lumbering  wain, 
O'er  plain  and  hillock  nearing  her  abode, 
The  goal  of  expectation,  fortune's  road, — 
The  maiden  waits  to  greet  with  courtesy 
Her  bashful  guest,  while  stranger  yet  is  he: 
From  friendly  circle  at  the  city's  Court 
She  's  come  to  cull  the  flowers,  to  toy  and  play 
With  prattling  childhood,  love's  delightful  sport; 
Its  smile  call  forth,  to  scent  the  new-mown  hay, 
Enjoy  the  wholesome  laughter,  simple  mien, 
Of  country  people  in  this  rural  scene. 


"So  sweetly  she  bade  me  adieu, 
I  thought  that  she  bade  me  return." 

Shenstoxe. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  45 


II. 


Ah!  why  so  brief  the  visit,  short  his  stay? 
The  acquaintance  so  surprising,  and  so  sweet, 
Stolen  is  my  heart,  'tis  journeying  far  away, 
With  that  shy  stranger  whom  my  voice  did  greet. 
That  hour  so  fertile  of  entrancing  thought, 
So  rapt  the  conversation,  and  so  free, — 
My  heart  lost  soundings,  tenderly  upcaught, 
Driven  by  soft  sails  of  love  and  ecstasy ! 
Was  I  then?  was  I?  clasped  in  Love's  embrace, 
And  touched  with  ardors  of  divinity? 
Spake  with  my  chosen  lover  face  to  face, 
Espoused  then  truly?   such  my  destiny? 
I  cannot  tell;    but  own  the  pleasing  theft, 
That  when  the  stranger  went,  I  was  of  Love  bereft. 


"  Though  the  bias  of  her  nature  was  not  to  thought  but 
to  sympathy,  yet  was  she  so  perfect  in  her  own  nature,  as 
to  meet  intellectual  persons  by  the  fulness  of  her  heart, 
warmi?ig  them  by  her  sentiments;  believing,  as  she  did, 
that,  by  dealing  nobly  with  all,  all  would  show  themselves 
noble." 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 


III. 


Not  all  the  brilliant  beauties  I  have  seen, 

Mid  the  gay  splendors  of  some  Southern  hall, 

In  jewelled  grandeur,  or  in  plainest  mien, 

Did  so  my  fancy  and  my  heart  enthral, 

As  doth  this  noble  woman,  Nature's  queen ! 

Such  hearty  greeting  from  her  lips  did  fall, 

And  I  ennobled  was  through  her  esteem; 

At  once  made  sharer  of  her  confidence, 

As  by  enchantment  of  some  rapturous  dream; 

With  subtler  vision  gifted,  finer  sense, 

She  loosed  my  tongue's  refraining  diffidence, 

And  softer  accents  lent  our  varying  theme: 

So  much  my  Lady  others  doth  surpass, 

I  read  them  all  through  her  transparent  glass. 


47 


"  They  love  indeed  who  quake  to  say  they  love." 

Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  49 


IV. 


The  April  rains  are  past,  the  frosts  austere, — ■ 
The  flowers  are  hungering  for  the  genial  sun, 
The  snow  's  dissolved,  the  merry  birds  are  here, 
And  rural  labors  now  are  well  begun. 
Hither,  from  the  disturbing,  noisy  Court 
I  've  flown  to  this  sequestered,  quiet  scene, 
To  meditate  on  Love  and  Love's  disport 
Mid   these    smooth    pastures    and    the    meadows 

green. 
Sure  'twere  no  fault  of  mine,  no  whispering  sin, 
If  these  coy  leaves  he  sends  me  seem  to  speak 
All  that  my  heart,  caressing,  folds  within; 
Nor  if  I  sought  to  smother,  my  flushed  cheek 
Would  tell  too  plainly  what  I  cannot  hide, 
Fond  fancy  disenchant  nor  set  aside. 


'"''Love  is  the  life  of  friendship,  letters  are 
The  life  of  love,  the  loadstones  that  by  rare 
Attraction  make  souls  meet,  a?id  melt,  and  mix, 
As  when  by  fire  exalted  gold  we  fix  r 

Howel. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 


MOST  precious  leaves  the  mail  delights  to  bring, 

All  loving  parcels,  neatly  squared  and  sealed; 

Her  buoyant  fancy  trims  its  glossy  wing, 

And  flits  courageous  o'er  Love's  flowery  field. 

Sure  'tis  a  tender  and  a  sparkling  flame 

That  letters  kindle  and  do  sweetly  feed; 

Wilt  fly,  schoolmaster,  for  such  noble  game? 

Maiden  that  doth  all  other  maids  exceed! 

She  writes  with  passion,  and  a  nimble  wit, 

Void  of  all  pedantry  and  vain  pretence, 

With  native  genius  forcible  and  fit, 

A  flowing  humor  and  surpassing  sense: 

Who  gains  her  heart  will  win  a  precious  prize, 

And  fortunate  be  in  every  lover's  eyes. 


"  This  place  may  seem  for  lovers'  leisure  made, 
So  close  those  elms  inweave  their  lofty  shade. 
The  twining  woodbine,  how  it  climbs  to  breathe 
Refreshing  sweets  around  us ;  all  beneath, 
The  ground  with  grass  of  cheerful  green  bespread, 
Through  which  the  springing  flower  uprcars  its  head. 
Lo,  here  are  hinge  up  s  of  a  golden  hue, 
Medleyed  with  daisies  white  and  endive  blue, 
A?id  honeysuckles  of  a  purple  dye  : 
Confusion  gay  /  bright  waving  to  the  eye.11 

Ambrose  Phillips. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  53 


VI. 


TiS  but  a  half-hour's  walk  the  Mill-Dam  o'er, 
Past  Punch  Bowl  Inn,  where,  by  the  turnpike's  side, 
The  shaded  pathway  winding  to  the  door, 
The  mansion  rises  in  ancestral  pride :  — 
Its  shaven  lawn,  and  blossoming  orchard  hoar, 
And  trellised  vines,  and  hedges  trim  and  neat, 
Show  plenty  and  refinement  here  abide,  — 
The  generous  gentleman's  fair  country-seat. 
Now,  whilst  the  full  moon  glances  soft  and  bright 
O'er  Mall  and  Mill-Dam  and  suburban  street, 
Turn  hitherward  thine  unaccustomed  feet, 
At  afternoon,  or  evening,  or  late  night; 
A  change  of  scene  oft  rare  attraction  lends 
To  new  acquaintance,  as  to  older  friends. 


"  If  I  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand: 
My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  i?i  his  throne, 
And  all  this  day  an  unaccustomed  spirit 
Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts" 

Shakespeare. 


SONNETS  AND  CANZONETS.  55 


VII. 


The  morning  's  clear,  the  sky  without  a  frown, 
The  dew-bespangled  pastures  wet  the  shoe; 
Sauntering  full  early  toward  the  sleeping  town, 
We  '11  take  the  dry,  well-trodden  avenue ; 
On  these  crisp  pathways,  and  familiar  grounds 
(Unless  my  flattering  heart  be  over-bold), 
While  lingering  purposely  amid  our  rounds, 
Some  shady  lane  may  love  to  hear  all  told. 
One  name  has  captured  his  too  partial  ear,  — 
(These  kind,  concealing  bushes  love  invite 
No  tell-tales  are,  nor  neighbors  impolite;) 
I  '11  hear  his  suit  devoid  of  blame  or  fear. 
Impatiently  the  moment  I  await; 
Who  nothing  ventures,  stays  disconsolate. 


"  Who  knows  thy  destiny  ?  when  thou  hast  done, 
Perchance  her  cabinet  may  harbor  thee, 
Whither  all  noble  ambitions  wits  do  run, 
A  nest  almost  as  full  of  good  as  she. 
Mark  if  to  get  thee  she  derskip  the  rest, 
Mark  if  she  read  thee  thrice,  and  kiss  the  name, 
Mark  if  she  do  the  same  that  they  protest, 
Mark  if  she  mark  whither  her  woman  came." 

Donne. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  57 

VIII. 

MEAN  are  all  titles  of  nobility, 

And  kings  poor  spendthrifts,  while  I  do  compare 

The  wealth  she  daily  lavishes  on  me 

Of  love,  the  noble  kingdom  that  I  share: 

Is  it  the  jealous  year,  for  emphasis, 

Sheds  beauteous  sunshine  and  refreshing  dews? 

My  maiden's  month  doth  softlier  court  and  kiss, 

Tint  springtime's  virgin  cheek  with  rosier  hues. 

Fly  faster  o'er  my  page,  impassioned  quill, 

Signing  this  note  of  mine  with  tenderer  touch ! 

Say  I  no  measure  find  to  mete  my  will, 

Say  that  I  love,  but  cannot  tell  how  much; 

Let  time  and  trouble  the  full  story  tell: 

I  cannot  love  thee  more,  I  know  I  love  thee  well. 


'"''Let  raptured  fancy  on  that  moment  dwell 
When  thy  dear  vows  in  trembling  accents  fell, 
When  love  acknowledged  waked  the  tender  sigh, 
Swelled  thy  full  breast,  and  filled  the  meltifig  eye." 

Langhorne. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  59 


IX. 


Now  I  no  longer  wait  my  love  to  tell, 

As  'twere  a  weakness  love  should  not  commit; 

E'en  did  avowal  my  fond  hope  dispel, 

My  passion  would  of  weakness  me  acquit. 

Enamoured  thus  and  holden  by  its  spell, 

Evasive  words  disloyal  were,  unfit 

To  emphasize  the  exquisite  happiness 

My  boldest  accents  falteringly  express; 

Here,  take  my  hand,  and,  life-long  wedded,  lead 

Me  by  thy  side ;   and,  with  my  hand,  my  heart 

Given  thee  long  since  in  thought,  given  now  in 

deed; 
My  life,  my  love,  shall  play  no  faithless  part. 
Blest  be  that  hour,  when,  meeting  face  to  face, 
Our  vows  are  plighted,  ours  the  dear  embrace ! 


"  Venus,  thy  eternal  sway 
All  the  race  of  men  obey." 

Euripides. 


SONNETS  AND  CANZONETS.  6j 


X. 


Unconquerable  and  inviolate 

Is  Love;  servant  and    sov'reign  of  man's  wit: 

Though  the  light-winged  fancy  changeful  flit, 

She  rules  unswervingly  her  fair  estate, 

O'erbears  mischance  and  error,  envy  and  hate; 

High  intellect,  ambition,  passion,  pride, 

Endowments  that  capricious  Fortune  brings, 

By  her  disfranchisements  are  set  aside; 

The  mistress  she  alike  of  slaves  and  kings, 

Empress  of  Earth's  dominions,  far  and  wide, 

Eldest  of  potentates,  and  latest  born. 

Of  all  in  Heaven  above  or  Earth  below, 

No  being  so  illustrious  or  forlorn, 

That  to  Love's  sceptre  doth  not  gladly  bow. 


"  Ye  tradeful  merchants  !  that  with  weary  toil 
Do  seek  most  precious  things  to  make  your  gain, 
And  both  the  Indies  of  their  treasure  spoil, 
What  needeth  you  to  seek  so  far  i?i  vain  ? 
For,  lo !  my  love  doth  in  herself  contain 
All  this  world's  riches  that  may  far  be  found ; 

But  that  which  fairest  is,  but  few  behold, 
Her  mind  adorned  with  virtues  manifold:' 

Spenser. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  63 


XI. 


ANCESTRAL  tendencies  far  down  descend; 
They  bless  or  blame  for  generations  long; 
They  prick  us  forward  toward  our  destined  end, 
Alike  the  weak,  the  sluggish,  and  the  strong. 
When  her  grave  ancestor,  of  Winthrop's  date, 
Did  with  the  rich  mint-master's  daughter  join 
In  wedlock,  he,  sagacious  magistrate, 
Gained  more  in  sterling  worth  than  silver  coin: 
So,  when  King's  Chapel  saw,  in  gladsome  May, 
The  mild  schoolmaster  lead  his  willing  bride, 
And  the  courtly  warden  give  her  hand  away, 
Mintage  of  like  worth  had  no  land  beside. 
True  love  alone  nobility  doth  outvie, 
And  character's  the  sterling  currency. 


"  How  still  the  sea  !  behold,  how  calm  the  sky  ! 
And  hoiv,  in  sportive  chase,  the  swallows  fly  / 
Sweet  breathe  the  fields,  a?id  now  a  gentle  breeze 
Moves  every  leaf  a?id  trembles  through  the  trees." 

Phillips. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  65 


XII. 


Hither,  the  gray  and  shapely  church  beside, 
At  sandy  Hingham,  by  the  sounding  sea, 
From  the  disturbing  town  escaped  thus  wide, 
I  'm  come,  from  all  encumbering  care  set  free, 
To  raise  the  choral  song,  with  friends  discourse, 
Roam  the  wide  fields  for  flowers,  or  seaward  sail, 
Or  to  Cohasset's  strand  repair,  where  hoarse 
Tumultuous  surges  chant  their  ceaseless  tale; 
Or  poesy  entertain,  grave  Wordsworth's  lays, 
Melodious  musing  childhood's  glorious  prime, 
Shakespeare's  warm  sonnets  or  Venetian  plays, 
Or  that  sad  wizard  Mariner's  marvellous  Rime. 
Here  in  these  haunts,  this  lovers'  company, 
Sweet  Love's  symposium  hold  we  happily. 


"Books  have  always  a  secret  influence  on  the  under- 
standing: we  cannot  at  pleasure  obliterate  ideas;  he  that 
reads  books  of  science,  though  without  any  desire  for 
improvement^  will  grow  more  knowing ;  he  that  enter- 
tains himself  with  moral  or  religious  treatises  will 
imperceptibly  advance  to  goodness;  the  ideas  which  are 
often  offered  to  the  mind  will  at  last  find  a  lucky  moment 
when  it  is  disposed  to  7'eceive  them" 

Dr.  Johnson. 


SONNETS  AND  CANZONETS. 


67 


XIII. 

My  Lady  reads,  with  judgment  and  good  taste, 
Books  not  too  many,  but  the  wisest,  best, 
Pregnant  with  sentiment  sincere  and  chaste, 
Rightly  conceived  were  they  and  aptly  dressed: 
These  wells  of  learning  tastes  she  at  the  source,  — 
Johnson's  poised  periods,  Fenelon's  deep  sense, 
Taylor's  mellifluous  and  sage  discourse, 
Majestic  Milton's  epic  eloquence, — 
Nor  these  alone  her  thoughts  do  all  engage, 
But  classic  authors  of  the  modern  time, 
And  the  great  masters  of  the  ancient  age, 
In  prose  alike  and  of  the  lofty  rhyme: 
Montaigne  and  Cowper,  Plutarch's  gallery, 
Blind  Homer's  Iliad  and  his  Odyssey. 


Ye  blessed  creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make :  I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee; 

My  heart  is  at  your  festival, 

My  head  hath  Us  coronal, 
The  fulness  of  your  bliss  I  feel — I  feel  it  all." 

Wordsworth. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  £g 

XIV. 

Not  Wordsworth's  genius,  Pestalozzi's  love, 

The  stream  have  sounded  of  clear  infancy. 

Baptismal  waters  from  the  Head  above 

These  babes  I  foster  daily  are  to  me; 

I  dip  my  pitcher  in  these  living  springs 

And  draw,  from  depths  below,  sincerity; 

Unsealed,  mine  eyes  behold  all  outward  things 

Arrayed  in  splendors  of  divinity. 

What  mount  of  vision  can  with  mine  compare? 

Not  Roman  Jove  nor  yet  Olympian  Zeus 

Darted  from  loftier  ether  through  bright  air 

One  spark  of  holier  fire  for  human  use. 

Glad  tidings  thence  these  angels  downward  bring, 

As  at  their  birth  the  heavenly  choirs  do  sing. 


"Fresh  as  the  morning,  earnest  as  the  hour 
That  calls  the  noisy  world  to  grateful  sleep, 
Our  silent  thought  reveres  the  nameless  poiuer 
That  high  seclusion  round  thy  life  doth  keep." 

Sanborn. 


SONNETS  AND  CANZONETS.  ji 


XV. 


DAUGHTER,  beloved  of  all,  thy  tender  eye, 
Sweet  disposition,  and  thy  gentle  voice, 
Make  every  heart,  full  soon  thy  close  ally, 
Respect  thy  wishes,  thine  unspoken  choice, — 
Hastening,  unbidden,  therewith  to  comply; 
They  in  thy  cheerful  countenance  rejoice, 
Kindness  unfailing,  and  quick  sympathy. 
Peacemaker  thou,  with  equanimity 
And  aspirations  far  above  thy  care, 
Leavest  no  duty  slighted  or  undone, 
Living  for  thy  dear  kindred,  always  there, 
Faithful  as  rising  and  as  setting  sun. 
Can  I  of  lovelier  mansion  be  possest, 
Than  in  thy  heart  to  dwell  a  welcome  guest? 


Stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God! 
O  Duty,  if  that  name  thou  love, 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 
To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove ; 
Thou  who  art  victory  and  law, 
When  empty  terrors  overawe; 
A?id  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity  /" 

Wordsworth. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  73 


XVI. 


WHEN  I  remember  with  what  buoyant  heart, 

Midst  war  's  alarms  and  woes  of  civil  strife, 

In  youthful  eagerness,  thou  didst  depart, 

At  peril  of  thy  safety,  peace,  and  life, 

To  nurse  the  wounded  soldier,  swathe  the  dead  — 

How  pierced  soon  by  fever's  poisoned  dart, 

And    brought   unconscious    home,    with   wildered 

head  — 
Thou,  ever  since,  mid  languor  and  dull  pain, 
To  conquer  fortune,  cherish  kindred  dear, 
Hast  with  grave  studies  vexed  a  sprightly  brain, 
In  myriad  households  kindled  love  and  cheer; 
Ne'er  from  thyself  by  Fame's  loud  trump  beguiled, 
Sounding  in  this  and  the  farther  hemisphere:  — 
I  press  thee  to  my  heart,  as  Duty's  faithful  child. 


"In  deepest  passions  of  my  grief -swolV n  breast \ 
Sweet  soul,  this  only  comfort  seizcth  mey 
That  so  few  years  should  make  thee  so  much  blest, 
And  give  such  wings  to  reach  eternity." 

Brown's  Shepherd's    Pipe. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  y$ 


XVII. 

'TWAS  not  permitted  thee  the  Fates  to  please, 

And  with  survivors  share  our  happier  day; 

For  smitten  early  wast  thou  by  disease, 

Whilst  with  thy  sisters  thou  didst  smile  and  play. 

Wasted  by  pains  and  lingering  decay, 

Life's  glowing  currents  at  the  source  did  freeze ; 

Yet,  ere  the  angel  summoned  thee  away, 

Above  thy  cheerful  couch  affection's  ray 

Did  brightly  shine,  and  all  thy  sufferings  ease. 

Dear  child  of  grace !  so  patient  and  so  strong, 

Bound  to  thy  duty  by  quick  sympathy, 

They  did  our  hearts  irreparable  wrong 

To  break  the  promise  of  thy  infancy; 

Ah  me !    life  is  not  life,  deprived  of  thee. 


;  WilVt  ne'er  be  morning?  will  that  promised  light 
Ne'er  break,  a?id  clear  these  clouds  oj  night  I 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day, 
Whose  conquering  ray 
May  chase  these  fogs :  sweet  Phosphor,  bri?ig  the  day." 

QUARLES. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  77 

XVIII. 
LOVE'S  MORROW. 


It  was  but  yesterday 

That  all  was  bright  and  fair: 
Came  over  the  sea, 
So  merrily, 

News  from  my  darling  there. 
Now  over  the  sea 
Comes  hither  to  me 
Knell  of  despair, — 

"  No  more,  no  longer  there !  " 


11. 


Ah!    gentle  May, 
Couldst  thou  not  stay? 


73  SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 

Why  hurriedst  thou  so  swift  away? 

No  —  not  the  same  — 

Nor  can  it  be  — 

That  lovely  name  — 
Ever  again  what  once  it  was  to  me. 

It  cannot,  cannot  be 

That  lovely  name  to  me. 


III. 

I  cannot  think  her  dead, 
So  lately,  sweetly  wed; 
She  who  had  tasted  bliss, 
A  mother's  virgin  kiss, 
Rich  gifts  conferred  to  bless 
With  costliest  happiness, 
Nobility  and  grace 
To  ornament  her  place. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  79 

IV. 

Broken  the  golden  band, 

Severed  the  silken  strand, 

Ye  sisters  four ! 

Still  to  me  two  remain, 

And  two  have  gone  before: 

Our  loss,  her  gain, — 

And  He  who  gave  can  all  restore. 

And  yet  — Oh!  why, 

My  heart  doth  cry, 

Why  take  her  thus  away? 

v. 

I  wake  in  tears  and  sorrow: 

Wearily  I  say, 
"  Come,  come,  fair  morrow, 
And  chase  my  grief  away !  " 

Night-long  I  say, 


So  SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 

"  Haste,  haste,  fair  morrow, 
And  bear  my  grief  away !  " 

All  night  long, 

My  sad,  sad  song. 

VI. 

"  Comes  not  the  welcome  morrow," 
My  boding  heart  doth  say; 

Still  grief  from  grief  doth  borrow; 

"  My  child  is  far  away." 
Still  as  I  pray 

The  deeper  swells  my  sorrow. 

Break,  break !     The  risen  day 

Takes  not  my  grief  away. 

VII. 

Full  well  I  know, 

Joy's  spring  is  fathomless,  — 

Its  fountains  overflow 

To  cheer  and  bless, 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  8 1 

And  underneath  our  grief 

Well  forth  and  give  relief. 
Transported  May ! 
Thou  couldst  not  stay; 
Who  gave,  took  thee  away. 
Come,  child,  and  whisper  peace  to  me, 
Say,  must  I  wait,  or  come  to  thee? 

I  list  to  hear 

Thy  message  clear. 

VIII. 

"  Cease,  cease,  new  grief  to  borrow !  " 

Last  night  I  heard  her  say; 

"  For  sorrow  hath  no  morrow, 

'T  is  born  of  yesterday. 

Translated  thou  shalt  be, 

My  cloudless  daylight  see, 

And  bathe,  as  I,  in  fairest  morrows  endlessly." 


"  Shall  not  from  these  remains, 

Fro?n  this  low  mound,  dear  ashes  of  the  dead, 

The  violet  spring  V* 

Persius. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 


83 


XIX. 

O  Death  !   thou  utterest  deeper  speech, 

A  tenderer,  truer  tone, 
Than  all  our  languages  can  reach, 

Though  all  were  voiced  in  one. 

Thy  glance  is  deep,  and,  far  beyond 

All  that  our  eyes  do  see, 
Assures  to  fairest  hopes  and  fond 

Their  immortality. 


Sing,  sing,  the  Immortals, 

The  Ancients  of  days, 
Ever  crowding  the  portals 

Of  Time's  peopled  ways ; 
These  Babes  ever  stealing 
Into  £  den's  glad  feeling, 
The  fore-world  revealing, 
God's  face  ne'er  concealing. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 


XX. 

Voyager  across  the  seas, 
In  my  arms  thy  form  I  press; 
Come,  my  Baby,  me  to  please, 
Blue-eyed  nurseling,  motherless ! 

All  is  strange  and  beautiful, 
Every  sense  finds  glad  surprise, 
Life  is  lovely,  wonderful, 
Faces  fair,  and  beaming  eyes. 

Safe,  ye  angels,  keep  this  child, 
Life-long  guard  her  innocence, 
Winsome  ways,  and  temper  mild; 
Heaven,  our  home,  be  her  defence ! 


85 


"  O,  how  thy  W07'th  with  manners  may  I  sing, 
When  thou  art  all  the  better  part  of  me  ? 
What  ca?i  mine  own  praise  to  mine  own  self  bring} 
And  what  isH  but  mine  own  when  I  praise  thee?*' 

Shakespeare. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS.  $y 


XXI. 


Dear  Heart !    if  aught  to  human  love  I've  owed 
For  noble  furtherance  of  the  good  and  fair; 
Climbed  I,  by  bold  emprise,  the  dizzying  stair 
To  excellence,  and  was  by  thee  approved, 
In  memory  cherished  and  the  more  beloved; 
If  fortune  smiled,  and  late-won  liberty, — 
Twas  thy  kind  favor  all,  thy  generous  legacy. 
Nor  didst  thou  spare  thy  large  munificence 
Me  here  to  pleasure  amply  and  maintain, 
But  conjured  from  suspicion  and  mischance, 
Exile,  misapprehension,  cold  disdain, 
For  my  loved  cloud-rapt  dream,  supremacy; 
To  bright  reality  transformed  romance, 
Crowning  with  smiles  the  hard-earned  victory. 


"  The  hills  7uere  reared,  the  valleys  scooped  in  rain, 
If  Learning's  altars  vanish  from  the  plain" 

Channixg. 


SONNETS  AND   CANZONETS. 


89 


XXII. 

Calm  vale  of  comfort,  peace,  and  industry, 
Well    doth   thy   name    thy   homebred    traits    ex- 
press !  — 
Considerate  people,  neighborly  and  free, 
Proud  of  their  monuments,  their  ancestry, 
Their  circling  river's  quiet  loveliness, 
Their  noble  townsmen's  fame  and  history. 
Nor  less  I  glory  in  each  goodly  trait, 
Child  of  another  creed,  a  stricter  State; 
I  chose  thee  for  my  haunt  in  troublous  time, 
My  home  in  days  of  late  prosperity, 
And  laud  thee  now  in  this  familiar  rhyme; 
Here  on  thy  bosom  the  last  summons  wait 
To  scenes,  if  lovelier,  still  reflecting  thee, 
Resplendent  both  in  hope  and  memory. 


PART    II. 


SONNETS. 


In  sundry  moods,  'twas  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground." 

Wordsworth. 


"  /  like  that  friendship  which,  by  soft  getitle  pauses, 
steals  upon  the  affectio?is  and  grows  mellow  with  time, 
by  reciprocal  offices  and  trials  of  love;  that  friendship  is 
like  to  last  long,  and  never  shrink  in  the  wetting" 

Howel. 


SONNETS. 


I. 


95 


In  Youth's  glad  morning,  when  the  rising  East 
Glows  golden  with  assurance  of  success, 
And  life  itself  's  a  rare  continual  feast, 
Enjoyed  the  more  if  meditated  less, 
'T  is  then  that  friendship's  pleasures  chiefly  bless, 
As  if  without  beginning,  —  ne'er  to  end,  — 
So  rich  the  season  and  so  dear  the  friend, 
When  thou  and  I  went  wandering  hand  in  hand ; 
Mine  wert  thou  in  our  years  of  earliest  prime, 
Studious  at  home,  or  to  the  southern  land 
Adventuring  bold;   again  in  later  time, 
Thy  kindly  service,  always  at  command 
Of  calm  discretion,  and  abounding  sense, 
Prompted  and  showed  the  path  to  excellence. 


"Power  above  powers !  O  heavenly  eloquence! 
That,  with  the  strong  rein  of  commanding  words, 
Dost  manage,  guide,  and  master  the  ei?ii?ience 
Of  man's  affections  more  than  all  their  swords ; 
Shall  we  not  offer  to  thy  excellence 
The  richest  treasure  that  our  wit  affords! 
Or  should  we  careless  come  behind  the  rest 
In  power  of  words  that  go  before  in  worth  ; 
When  all  that  ever  hotter  spirits  exprest 
Comes  bettered  by  the  patience  of  the  North  ?  " 

Daniel. 


SONNETS. 


II. 


97 


My  thought  revives  at  utterance  of  thy  name, — 

Doth  high  behavior,  sweet  discourse  recall, 

Lit  with  emotion's  quick  and  quenchless  flame, 

Imagination  interfused  through  all; 

Then  peals  thy  voice  melodious  on  mine  ear, 

As  when  grave  anthems  thou  didst  well  recite,  — 

Laodamia's  vision  sad  and  dear, 

Or  "  Thanatopsis/'  or  "  Hail,  Holy  Light !  " 

Thou  true  Professor,  gifted  to  dispense 

New  pathos  e'en  to  Channing's  eloquence; 

If  mother  tongue  they  fail  to  speak  or  write, 

Nor  Greek  nor  Latin  draw  thy  pupils  thence; 

Such  culture,  taught  by  the  far  Northern  sea, 

This  scholar  brings,  New  England,  home  to  thee. 


"Ascendt7ig  soul,  sing  Pcean." 

Oracle. 


r 


SONNETS. 


III. 


99 


Christian  beloved !  devoid  of  art  and  wile,  — 

Who  lovest  thy  Lord  so  well,  with  heart  so  true, 

That  neither  mist  nor  mote  of  worldly  guile 

May  clog  thy  vision,  nor  confuse  the  view 

Of  that  transcendent  and  commanding  style 

Of  god-like  manhood ;  which  had  dazed  long  while 

Each  purblind  brother's  idol-loving  eye. 

Sense  overpowering  doth  the  soul  belie: 

Thou  the  soul's  errand  and  due  place  dost  see, 

Its  heavenly  features  to  thy  ken  disclose, 

As  when  in  Nazareth  thy  Lord  uprose, 

The  Father's  image  in  Humanity. 

A  holy  service  thine,  interpreter 

Of  Lazarus  rising  from  the  sepulchre. 


"  The  virtuous  mind  that  ever  walks  atte?ided 
By  a  strong  siding  champion,  Conscience''' 

Milton. 


SONNETS.  !0i 

IV. 

Channing  !    my  Mentor  whilst   my  thought  was 

young, 
And  I  the  votary  of  fair  liberty,  — 
How  hung  I  then  upon  thy  glowing  tongue, 
And  thought  of  love  and  truth  as  one  with  thee ! 
Thou  wast  the  inspirer  of  a  nobler  life, 
When  I  with  error  waged  unequal  strife, 
And  from  its  coils  thy  teaching  set  me  free. 
Be  ye,  his  followers,  to  his  leading  true, 
Nor  privilege  covet,  nor  the  wider  sway; 
But  hold  right  onward  in  his  loftier  way, 
As  best  becomes,  and  is  his  rightful  due. 
If  learning  's   yours,  —  gifts    God    doth    least   es- 
teem, — 
Beyond  all  gifts  was  his  transcendent  view; 
O  realize  his  Pentecostal  dream ! 


u  Without  oblivion   there  is  no   remembrance  possible. 
Whe?i   both    oblivion   and    memory   are    wise,   then    the 
general  soul  is  clear,  melodious,  and  true" 

Carlyle. 


SONNETS. 


V. 


103 


DAUGHTER  of  Memory  !  who  her  watch  doth  keep 
O'er  dark  Oblivion's  land  of  shade  and  dream, 
Peers  down  into  the  realm  of  ancient  Sleep, 
Where  Thought  uprises  with  a  sudden  gleam 
And  lights  the  devious  path  'twixt  Be  and  Scan  ; 
Mythologist !  that  dost  thy  legend  steep 
Plenteously  with  opiate  and  anodyne, 
Inweaving  fact  with  fable,  line  with  line, 
Entangling  anecdote  and  episode, 
Mindful  of  all  that  all  men  meant  or  said,  — 
We  follow,  pleased,  thy  labyrinthine  road, 
By  Ariadne's  skein  and  lesson  led : 
For  thou  hast  wrought  so  excellently  well, 
Thou  drop'st  more  casual  truth  than  sages  tell. 


"  Not  on  the  store  of  sprightly  wine, 
Nor  plenty  of  delicious  meats, 
Though  gracious  Nature  did  design 

To  court  us  with  perpetual  treats  ; 
'Tis  not  on  these  we  for  content  depend, 
So  much  as  on  the  shadow  of  a  friend." 

Menander. 


SONNETS.  IOc 


VI. 


Misfortune  to  have  lived  not  knowing  thee ! 
'Twere  not  high  living,  nor  to  noblest  end, 
Who,  dwelling  near,  learned  not  sincerity, 
Rich  friendship's  ornament  that  still  doth  lend 
To  life  its  consequence  and  propriety. 
Thy  fellowship  was  my  culture,  noble  friend: 
By  the  hand  thou  took'st  me,  and  did'st  condescend 
To  bring  me  straightway  into  thy  fair  guild; 
And  life-long  hath  it  been  high  compliment 
By  that  to  have  been  known,  and  thy  friend  styled, 
Given  to  rare  thought  and  to  good  learning  bent ; 
Whilst  in  my  straits  an  angel  on  me  smiled. 
Permit  me,  then,  thus  honored,  still  to  be 
A  scholar  in  thy  university. 


"  He  shall  not  seek  to  weave, 
In  weak,  unhappy  times, 
Efficacious  rhymes  ; 
Wait  his  returning  strength. 
Bird,  that  fro?n  the  nadir's  floor 
To  the  ze?iith?s  top  can  soar, 
The  soaring  orbit  of  the  Muse  exceeds  that 
journey  *s  length . ' ' 


SONNETS. 


VII. 


107 


HlEROPHANT,  and  lyrist  of  the  soul ! 
Clear  insight  thine  of  universal  mind; 
While  from  its  crypts  the  nascent  Powers  unrol, 
Each  in  its  order  seeks  its  natural  kind, 
And  represents  to  consciousness  the  Whole. 
These  latent  or  apparent,  stir  or  sleep, 
Watchful  o'er  widening  fields  of  airy  space, 
Or  slumbering  sightless  in  the  briny  deep ;  — 
Thou,  far  above  their  shows,  servant  of  Grace, 
Tread'st    the    bright   way   from    Spirit   down   to 

Sense, 
Interpreting  all  symbols  to  thy  race,  — 
Commanding  vistas  of  the  fair  Immense, 
And  glimpses  upward  far,  where,  sons  of  Heaven, 
Sit  in  Pantheon  throned  the  Sacred  Seven. 


"  The  prmcely  mind,  that  can 
Teach  man  to  keep  a  God  in  man, — 
And  whe?i  wise  poets  would  search  out  to  see 
Good  men,  behold  them  all  in  thee!" 


SONNETS.  10g 


VIII. 


Pleased,  I  recall  those  hours,  so  fair  and  free, 
When  all  the  long  forenoons  we  two  did  toss 
From  lip  to  lip,  in  lively  colloquy, 
Plato,  Plotinus,  or  famed  schoolman's  gloss, 
Disporting  in  rapt  thought  and  ecstasy. 
Then  by  the  tilting  rail  Millbrook  we  cross, 
And  sally  through  the  fields  to  Walden  wave, 
Plunging  within  the  cove,  or  swimming  o'er; 
Through  woodpaths  wending,  he  with  gesture  quick 
Rhymes  deftly  in  mid-air  with  circling  stick, 
Skims  the  smooth  pebbles  from  the  leafy  shore, 
Or  deeper  ripples  raises  as  we  lave; 
Nor  slumb'rous  pillow  touches  at  late  night, 
Till  converse  with  the  stars  his  eyes  invite. 


c  Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep ; 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 
State  i?i  wonted  manner  keep: 

Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 

Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart, 
And  thy  crystal  sliming  quiver ; 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 
Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever, 

Thou  who  mak  'st  a  day  of  night, 

Goddess  excellently  bright." 

Ben  Jonson. 


SONNETS.  m 


IX. 


DEAR  Lady!   oft  I  meditate  on  thee, 
Noblest  companion  and  fit  peer  of  him 
Whom  envious  years,  in  high  prosperity, 
Could  blemish  least,  nor  aught  the  lustre  dim 
Of  that  fair-fashioned  native  piety 
Embosomed  in  the  soul  that  smiles  on  Fate, 
And  held  by  him  and  thee  inviolate, — 
Fountain  of  youth,  still  sparkling  o'er  the  brim. 
Then  I  recall  thy  salient  quick  wit, 
Its  arrowy  quiver  and  its  supple  bow,  — 
Huntress  of  wrong !   right  well  thy  arrows  hit, 
Though  from  the  wound  thou  see'st  the  red  drops 

flow  : 
I  much  admire  that  dexterous  archery, 
And  pray  that  sinners  may  thy  target  be. 


"  Upon  the  nineteenth  day  of  the  first  month,  they  keep 
a  solemn  festival  to  Hermes,  wherein  they  eat  honey  and 
figs,  and  withal,  say  these  words,  '  Truth  is  a  sweet 
thing ; '  and  that  amulet  or  charm  which  they  fable  to 
hang  about  her  is,    when   interpreted  in   our  language, 

1 A  true  voice.'  " 

Plutarch. 


SONNETS.  j!-. 


X. 


Thou,  Sibyl  rapt !  whose  sympathetic  soul 

Infused  the  myst'ries  thy  tongue  failed  to  tell  ; 

Though  from  thy  lips  the  marvellous  accents  fell, 

And  weird  wise  meanings  o'er  the  senses  stole, 

Through  those  rare  cadences,  with  winsome  spell ; 

Yet,  even  in  such  refrainings  of  thy  voice, 

There  struggled  up  a  wailing  undertone, 

That  spoke  thee  victim  of  the  Sisters'  choice,  — 

Charming  all  others,  dwelling  still  alone. 

They  left  thee  thus  disconsolate  to  roam, 

And  scorned  thy  dear,  devoted  life  to  spare. 

Around  the  storm-tost  vessel  sinking  there 

The  wild  waves  chant  thy  dirge  and  welcome  home ; 

Survives  alone  thy  sex's  valiant  plea, 

And  the  great  heart  that  loved  the  brave  and  free. 


u  One  knocked  at  the  Beloved's  door,  and  a  Voice  asked 
from  within,  Who  is  there  ?  And  he  answered,  It  is  I. 
Then  the  Voice  said,  This  house  will  not  hold  me  and  thee, 
and  the  door  was  not  opened.  Then  went  the  Lover  into 
the  desert,  and  fasted  and  prayed  in  solitude.  And  after  a 
year  he  returned,  and  knocked  again  at  the  door.  And 
again  the  Voice  asked,  Who  is  there  ?  and  he  said,  It  is 
Thyself     And  the  door  was  opened  to  him." 

Persian  Poet. 


SONNETS. 


XI. 


115 


PRIEST  of  the  gladsome  tidings,  old  and  new, 

To  whom  by  nature  fell,  as  the  most  fit, 

The  saintly  Channing's  mantle;  brave  and  true, 

Thou  heedst  thy  calling,  and  dost  well  acquit 

Thyself  of  the  high  mission.     Thy  sage  wit 

(O  brother  in  the  Lord,  and  well  approved 

To  lead  men  heavenward  to  the  Father's  throne, 

And  Son's  that  sits  at  His  right  hand  beloved !) 

Hath  ministered  to  every  clime  and  zone 

Washed  by  Pacific  or  Atlantic  sea, 

With  chainless    flow  'neath  Heaven's    unbounded 

cope. 
Son  of  the  Church,  saint  of  thy  century ! 
Undoubting  faith  is  thine,  and  fadeless  hope, 
And  ardent,  all-embracing  charity. 


"  Philosophy  does  not  look  into  pedigrees.     She  did  not 
receive  Plato  as  noble,  but  she  made  him  such." 

Sexeca. 


SONNETS.  ny 


XII. 


Interpreter  of  the  Pure  Reason's  laws, 
And  all  the  obligations  Thought  doth  owe 
These  high  ambassadors  of  her  great  cause; 
Philosopher !  whose  rare  discernments  show 
Apt  mastery  of  her  surpassing  skill, 
And  why  each  thought  and  thing  is  inly  so 
Conceived  and  fashioned  in  the  plastic  Will; 
Thou  Reason's  canons  dost  so  well  maintain, 
With  such  adhesive  and  sincere  regard, 
That  every  deviator  seeks  in  vain 
To  escape  thy  apprehension ;   evil-starred, 
With  Dante's  sophisters  they  writhe  in  pain. 
Then  from  thy  judgment-seat,  dismissed  with  ruth, 
Thou  lead'st  the  stumblers  in  the  way  of  truth. 


"  Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ? 
Loved  the  wild  rose  and  left  it  on  its  stalk  ? 
At  rich  men's  tables  eate?i  bread  and  pulse? 
Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust  1 
And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 
In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained \ 
Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay  ? 
Oh,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine!" 

Emerson. 


r*  «**4 


SONNETS.  119 


XIII. 


WHO  nearer  Nature's  life  would  truly  come 
Must  nearest  come  to  him  of  whom  I  speak; 
He  all  kinds  knew,  —  the  vocal  and  the  dumb; 
Masterful  in  genius  was  he,  and  unique, 
Patient,  sagacious,  tender,  frolicsome. 
This  Concord  Pan  would  oft  his  whistle  take, 
And  forth  from  wood  and  fen,  field,  hill,  and  lake, 
Trooping  around  him,  in  their  several  guise, 
The  shy  inhabitants  their  haunts  forsake: 
Then  he,  like  Esop,  man  would  satirize, 
Hold  up  the  image  wild  to  clearest  view 
Of  undiscerning  manhood's  puzzled  eyes, 
And  mocking  say,  "  Lo !  mirrors  here  for  you : 
Be  true  as  these,  if  ye  would  be  more  wise." 


The  happy  man  who  lived  content 
With  his  own  town  and  continent, 
Whose  chiding  stream  its  banks  did  curb 
As  ocean  circumscribes  its  orb, 
Round  which,  when  he  his  walks  did  take, 
Thought  he  performed  far  more  than  Drake : 
For  other  lands  he  took  less  thought, 
Tha?i  this  his  Muse  and  landscape  brought." 

Evelyn. 


SOAAETS.  j  2 


XIV. 


MUCH  do  they  wrong  our  Henry,  wise  and  kind, 

Morose  who  name  thee,  cynical  to  men, 

Forsaking  manners  civil  and  refined 

To  build  thyself  in  Walden  woods  a  den,  — 

Then  flout  society,  flatter  the  rude  hind. 

We  better  knew  thee,  loyal  citizen ! 

Thou,  friendship's  all-adventuring  pioneer, 

Civility  itself  didst  civilize : 

Whilst  braggart  boors,  wavering  'twixt  rage  and 

fear, 
Slave  hearths  lay  waste,  and  Indian  huts  surprise, 
And  swift  the  Martyr's  gibbet  would  uprear: 
Thou  hail'dst  him  great  whose  valorous  emprise 
Orion's  blazing  belt  dimmed  in  the  sky, — 
Then  bowed  thy  unrepining  head  to  die. 


"  Happy  art  thou  whom  God  doth  bless 
With  the  full  choice  of  thi?ie  own  happiness ; 
And  happier  yet,  because  thou'rt  blest 
With  prude?ice  how  to  choose  the  best : 
In  books  and  gardens  thou  hast  placed  aright  — 
Thi?igs  well  which  thou  dost  understand, 
And  both  dost  ??iake  with  thy  laborious  hand- 
Thy  noble,  innocent  delight. 

Methinks  J  see  great  Diocletian  walk 

In  the  Salonian  garden's  noble  shade, 
Which  by  his  own  imperial  hands  was  made ; 
I  see  him  smile,  methinks,  as  he  does  talk 

With  the  ambassadors,  who  come  in  vain 
To  entice  him  to  a  throne  again." 

Cowley's  Ode  to  Evelyn. 


SONNETS. 


XV. 


123 


Whilst  from  the  cloistered  schools  rushed  forth 

in  view 
The  eager  Bachelors,  on  lucre  bent, 
Or  life  voluptuous ;   even  the  studious  few, 
Oblivious  mostly,  if  they  ever  knew 
What  Nature  mirrored  and  fair  learning  meant; 
Thou,  better  taught,  on  worthier  aims  intent, 
Short  distance  from  the  Pilgrims'  sea-washed  street 
Thine  orchard  planted ;  grove  and  garden  there, 
And  sheltering  coppice  hide  thy  mansion  neat, 
By  winding  alley  reached,  and  gay  parterre; 
Where  cordial  welcome  chosen  friends  shall  meet, 
From  courteous  host  and  graceful  lady  fair; 
Then  thy  choice  fruits  we  taste,  thy  wisdom  hived, 
England's  rare  Evelyn  in  thee  revived. 


"  Thou  art  not  gone,  being  gone,  —  where'er  thou  art, 
Thou  leav'st  in  him  thy  watchful  eyes,  in  him  thy  lov- 


ing heart. 


Donne. 


SONNETS.  l2t 


XVI. 


BRIGHT  visions  of  my  sprightlier  youthful  days, 
With  sunny  gleams  of  answering  friendliness, 
Thou  brought'st  me,  maiden,  in  delightful  ways, 
In  conversation,  letters,  frank  address; 
And  these  attractions  did  me  so  possess, 
The  moments  all  were  thine,  and  thou  in  sight 
By  day's  engagements,  and  in  dreams  by  night. 
Wished  I  the  spell  dissolved,  or  ever  less? 
Ne'er  may  advancing  years  remove  one  tint 
From  memory's  tablet  of  that  happy  time; 
And  if  thus  tamely  that  romance  I  hint, 
Forgive  my  poor  endeavor  in  this  rhyme, 
Nor  warrant  give  me  now,  my  cherished  friend, 
To  add  the  more,  lest  I  the  more  offend. 


A(TTr]p    TTpLV    fXeV    eA.a/X7T€5    Ivl    ^(DOLOTLV    €U)OS, 

Nw  Se  Oaviov  Aa/X7reis  "Ecr7repos   6P  ^^i/xeVot?. 

"  7/ta  «wtf  #  morning  star  among  the  living 

Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled  ; 

Now,  being  gone,  thou  art  as  Hesperus,  giving 

New  lustre  to  the  dead." 

Plato. 


SONNETS. 


XVII. 


127 


SWEET  saint !  whose  rising  dawned  upon  the  sight 
Like  fair  Aurora  chasing  mists  away; 
Our  ocean  billows,  and  thy  western  height 
Gave  back  reflections  of  the  tender  ray, 
Sparkling  and  smiling  as  night  turned  to  day :  — 
Ah!    whither  vanished  that  celestial  light? 
Suns  rise  and  set,  Monadnoc's  amethyst 
Year-long  above  the  sullen  cloud  appears, 
Daily  the  waves  our  summer  strand  have  kissed, 
But  thou  returnest  not  with  days  and  years : 
Or  is  it  thine,  yon  clear  and  beckoning  star, 
Seen  o'er  the  hills  that  guarded  once  thy  home? 
Dost  guide  thy  friend's  free  steps  that  widely  roam 
Toward  that  far  country  where  his  wishes  are? 


a  Thus  sing  I  to  cragg'd  clifis  and  hills ; 
To  sighing  winds,  to  murmuring  rills, 
To  wasteful  woods,  to  empty  groves, 
Such  things  as  my  dear  mind  most  loves." 

Henry  More. 


SONNETS. 


XVIII. 


129 


ADVENTUROUS  mariner!  in  whose  gray  skiff, 
Dashing  disastrous  o'er  the  fretful  wave, 
The  steersman,  subject  to  each  breeze's  whiff, 
Or  blast  capricious  that  o'er  seas  doth  rave, 
Scarce  turns  his  rudder  from  the  fatal  cliff,  — 
Scorning  his  craft  or  e'en  himself  to  save. 
Ye  Powers  of  air,  that  shift  the  seaman's  grave, 
Adjust  the  tackle  of  his  right  intent, 
And  bring  him  safely  to  the  port  he  meant! 
Long  musing  there  on  that  divinity 
Who  to  his  hazard  had  assistance  lent, 
He  verses  cons,  oft  taken  by  surprise 
In  diverse  meanings,  and  shrewd  subtlety, 
That   pass    quaint   Donne,  and  even  Shakespeare 
w'ce. 


"  But  else,  in  deep  of  night,  when  drowsiness 
Hath  locked  up  mo?'tal  sense,  then  listen  I 
To  the  celestial  Syrens'  harmony 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  spheres, 
And  sing  to  those  that  hold  the  vital  shears, 
And  turn  the  adamantine  spindle  round, 
On  which  the  fate  of  gods  a?id  men  is  wound." 

Milton. 


SONNETS. 


XIX. 


131 


Romancer,  far  more  coy  than  that  coy  sex ! 
Perchance  some  stroke  of  magic  thee  befell, 
Ere  thy  baronial  keep  the  Muse  did  vex, 
Nor  grant  deliverance  from  enchanted  spell, 
But  tease  thee  all  the  while  and  sore  perplex, 
Till  thou  that  wizard  tale  shouldst  fairly  tell, 
Better  than  poets  in  thy  own  clear  prose. 
Painter  of  sin  in  its  deep  scarlet  dyes, 
Thy  doomsday  pencil  Justice  doth  expose, 
Hearing  and  judging  at  the  dread  assize; 
New  England's  guilt  blazoning  before  all  eyes, 
No  other  chronicler  than  thee  she  chose. 
Magician  deathless !    dost  thou  vigil  keep, 
Whilst    'neath  our   pines  thou    feignest   deathlike 
sleep  ? 


"  There  is  a  Roman  splendor  in  her  smi/e, 
A  tenderness  that  owes  its  depth  to  toil ; 
Well  may  she  leave  the  soft  voluptuous  wile, 
That  forms  the  woman  of  a  softer  soil; 
She  does  pour  forth  herself,  a  fragra7it  oil. 
Upon  the  dark  asperities  of  Fate, 
And  make  a  garden  else  all  desolate." 

Ellery  Channixg. 


*a 


r 


T 


SONNETS.  J23 


XX. 


Still  held  in  sweet  remembrance  thou,  my  friend, 
As  when  I  knew  thee  in  thy  maiden  prime; 
Though  later  years  to  ripening  graces  lend 
The  graver  traits,  whilst  we  together  climb 
The  pathway  upward  to  those  loftier  heights, 
'Bove  clouded  prospects  and  familiar  sights. 
Thy  gracious  worth  shines  brightly  in  mine  eyes, 
Thy  warm  heart's  labors,  thy  large  liberal    brain, 
Ennobling  studies,  and  broad  charities, 
Thou  woman  worthy  of  the  coming  age ! 
Whilst  household  duties  thou  dost  well  sustain, 
Yet  ampler  service  for  thy  sex  presage; 
Can  aught  from  Memory's  record  e'er  erase 
Thy  cordial  manners,  and  resplendent  face? 


;  So  have  I  seen  in  fair  Castile, 
The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start, 
Sudden  the  flying  jemiet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart." 

Scott. 


SONNETS.  135 


XXL 


POET  of  the  Pulpit,  whose  full-chorded  lyre 
Startles  the  churches  from  their  slumbers  late, 
Discoursing  music,  mixed  with  lofty  ire, 
At  wrangling  factions  in  the  restless  state, 
Till  tingles  with  thy  note  each  listening  ear, — 
Then  household  charities  by  the  friendly  fire 
Of  home,  soothe  all  to  fellowship  and  good  cheer. 
No  sin  escapes  thy  fervent  eloquence, 
Yet,  touching  with  compassion  the  true  word, 
Thou  leavest  the  trembling  culprit's  dark  offence 
To  the  mediation  of  his  gracious  Lord. 
To  noble  thought  and  deep  dost  thou  dispense 
Due  meed  of  praise,  strict  in  thy  just  award. 
Can  other  pulpits  with  this  preacher  cope? 
I  glory  in  thy  genius,  and  take  hope! 


Many  are  the  friends  of  the  golden  tongue" 

Welsh  Triad. 


SONNETS. 


XXII. 


137 


PEOPLE'S  Attorney,  servant  of  the  Right ! 

Pleader  for  all  shades  of  the  solar  ray, 

Complexions  dusky,  yellow,  red,  or  white ; 
Who,  in  thy  country's  and  thy  time's  despite, 

Hast  only  questioned,  What  will  Duty  say? 
And  followed  swiftly  in  her  narrow  way: 
Tipped  is  thy  tongue  with  golden  eloquence, 
All  honeyed  accents  fall  from  off  thy  lips, — 
Each  eager  listener  his  full  measure  sips, 
Yet  runs  to  waste  the  sparkling  opulence, — 
The  scorn  of  bigots,  and  the  worldling's  flout. 
If  Time  long  held  thy  merit  in  suspense, 
Hastening  repentant  now,  with  pen  devout, 
Impartial  History  dare  not  leave  thee  out. 


"  Who  faithful  in  insane  sedition  keeps, 
With  silver  and  with  ruddy  gold  may  vie." 

Tyrt\eus. 


SONNETS. 


XXIII. 


139 


'T  WAS  when  the  land  was  struggling  to  break  free 
From  Slavery's  fetter  and  provincial  ban, 
Whilst  a  great  people  dreaded  liberty,  — 
That  the  dire  conflict  of  thine  age  began. 
Thy  voice  rang  clear  o'er  selfish  sect  and  clan ; 
Nor  politician's,  priest's,  nor  tradesman's  plea 
Did  aught  avail  to  quench,  but  more  to  fan 
The  flame  that  must  consume  all  slavery,  — 
The  serf  then  franchised  and  proclaimed  a   man. 
Long  wast  thou  heard  amid  the  scoff  and  scorn 
Of  voices  potent  in  thy  city  dear; 
Steadfast  didst  face  the  storm,  with  heart  of  cheer, 
And  prove  thyself  the  freeman  nobly  born, 
Preacher  of  righteousness,  of  saints  the  peer. 


"  Nothing  is  he7-e  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast,  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise  or  blame,  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 
And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  ?ioble." 

Milton. 


SONNETS.  I4I 


XXIV. 


BOLD  Saint,  thou  firm  believer  in  the  Cross, 
Again  made  glorious  by  self-sacrifice,  — 
Love's  free  atonement  given  without  love's  loss,  — 
That  martyrdom  to  thee  was  lighter  pain, 
Since  thus  a  race  its  liberties  should  gain; 
Flash  its  sure  consequence  in  Slavery's  eyes 
When,  'scaping  sabre's   clash  and  battle's  smoke, 
She  felt  the  justice  of  thy  master-stroke: 
Peaceful  prosperity  around  us  lies, 
Freedom  with  loyalty  thy  valor  gave; 
Whilst  thou,  no  felon  doomed,  for  gallows  fit, 
O  Patriot  true !     O  Christian  meek  and  brave ! 
Throned  in  the  martyrs'  seat  henceforth  shalt  sit ; 
Prophet  of  God !   Messias  of  the  Slave ! 


"  O  my  brethren  !    I  have  told 
Most  bitter  truth,  but  without  bitterness, 
Nor  deem  my  zeal  or  factious  or  mistimed; 
For  never  can  true  courage  dwell  with  them 
Who,  playing  tricks  with  conscience,  da7'e  7iot  look 
At  their  own  vices." 

Coleridge. 


SONNETS.  143 


XXV. 


Nobly  censorious  of  our  transient  age, 

Hating  oppressors  in  thy  love  of  man, 

Thou  didst  stride  forward  on  the  public  stage 

With  the  bold  liberators  to  the  van, 

Scourging  delinquents  with  a  lofty  rage. 

Iconoclast,  who  'gainst  foul  idols  ran, 

Tumbling  false  gods  from   their  wide-worshipped 

shrine, 
To  throne  therein  the  human  and  divine. 
Charged  was  thy  soul  with  vehement  eloquence, 
Strenuous  with  ample  reason's  manly  art; 
Thy  prayers  were  fervent,  void  of  all  pretence, 
Wrath  yielded  place  to  pity  in  thy  heart; 
Eagerly  of  all  learning  mad'st  thou  spoil, 
Before  thy  lamp,  extinguished,  spent  its  oil. 


There 's  not  a  breathing  of  the  common  wind 

That  will  forget  thee:  thou  hast  great  allies ; 
Thy  friends  are  exultations,  agonies ; 

And  love,  and  man's  unconquerable  mind" 

Wordsworth. 


^ 


w 

^v^ 


SONNETS.  I4tj 


XXVI. 


Freedom's  first  champion  in  our  fettered  land ! 

Nor  politician  nor  base  citizen 

Could  gibbet  thee,  nor  silence,  nor  withstand. 

Thy  trenchant  and  emancipating  pen 

The  patriot  Lincoln  snatched  with  steady  hand, 

Writing  his  name  and  thine  on  parchment  white, 

Midst  war's  resistless  and  ensanguined  flood ; 

Then  held  that  proclamation  high  in  sight 

Before  his  fratricidal  countrymen,  — 

"  Freedom   henceforth    throughout    the    land    for 

all,"  — 
And  sealed  the  instrument  with  his  own  blood, 
Bowing  his  mighty  strength  for  slavery's  fall; 
Whilst  thou,  stanch  friend  of  largest  liberty, 
Survived,  —  its  ruin  and  our  peace  to  see. 


"  E  venni  dal  martirio  a  quest  a  pace.'*' 

Dante. 

"  Ah,  me!  how  dark  the  discipline  of  pain, 
Were  not  the  suffering  followed  by  the  sense 

Of  infinite  rest  and  i?ifinite  release  ! 
This  is  our  consolation ;  and  again 

A  great  soul  cries  to  us  in  our  suspense: 
1 1  came  from  martyrdom  unto  this  peace' " 

Longfellow. 


*#> 


*  *. 


.V 


SONNETS.  147 


XXVII. 


O  Thou,  my  country,  ope  thine  eyes 
Toward  what  the  Future  holds  for  thee ! 
See  the  brave  stripling  rise 
From  lowliest  hut  and  poverty, 

From  stair  to  stair; 
Nor  hardly  fix  his  footsteps  there, 

Ere  he  another  round 

Doth  upward  bound; 
Still,  step  by  step,  to  higher  stair 

Forward  he  leaps, 
Broader  his  vision  sweeps, 
Till  he  the  loftiest  summit  gain, — 
A  people's  hope  to  further  and  maintain. 


143 


SONNETS. 


II. 


But  lo  !  as  oft  befalls  the  great, 
The  wise  and  good, 
There  for  a  moment  poised  he  stood,  - 
Then  passed  beyond  the  gazing  crowd 
Within  the  folded  cloud. 

Wasted  by  weary  pains, 
His  pale  remains 
Now  lie  in  state, 
Swathed  in  his  bloody  shroud; 
Peoples  and  kingdoms  bathed  in  tears. 
Hear'st  thou  the  welcome  greet  his  ears, 
As  he  his  holier  throne  doth  take? 
This  brave  of  fifty  manly  years, 
Dies  he  not  now  for  thy  dear  sake? 


SONNETS. 


III. 


149 


O  follow,  thou,  his  leading  far, 
Be  thou  thyself  the  morning  star, 
Beaming  thy  glories  round  the  world, 
His  name  emblazoned  on  thy  flag  unfurled ! 
What  speak  the  myriad  bells, 
Tolling  this  day  their  mournful  knells? 
"  Ne'er  may  our  weight  be  swung, 
Never  our  iron  tongue 
Slavery's  base  might  extol 
In  town  or  capitol ; 
But  o'er  a  people  brave  and  free 
Ring  out  in  happier  symphony 
Garfield  and  Liberty !  " 


'ASdVey,  at  irvKivoicnv  dftvpofxevai  ttoti  cf)vX\ots, 
Ndixao-i  toIs  2iKe\ols  ayyetXare  ray  'ApeBoiaas, 
"Ottl  BiW  redvaicev  6  (BcokoXos,   otti  avu  dvT<o 
Kai  to  /xeXoff  Tedvaice,   Kai  a>\ero  Acapis  doidd. 

Bion  is  dead!    our  Shepherd  sings  no  more, — 
Forever  mute  the  echoes  of  this  shore ; 
Perished  with  him,  the  Dorian  lay  is  o'er. 

Moschus,  Epitaph  of  Bion. 


"But  O  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return  / 
Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods,  and  desert  caves 
With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'ergrown, 
And  all  their  echoes  mourn ; 
The  willows  and  the  hazel  copses  green 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  in  thy  soft  lays." 

Milton's  Lycidas. 


SONNETS. 


XXVIII. 


151 


His  harp  is  silent:     shall  successors  rise, 
Touching    with    venturous    hand    the    trembling 

string, 
Kindle  glad  raptures,  visions  of  surprise, 
And  wake  to  ecstasy  each  slumbering  thing? 
Shall    life   and   thought    flash    new   in   wondering 

eyes, 
As  when  the  seer  transcendent,  sweet  and  wise, 
World-wide  his  native  melodies  did  sing, 
Flushed  with  fair  hopes  and  ancient  memories? 
Ah,  no !     That  matchless  lyre  shall  silent  lie ; 
None    hath    the    vanished     minstrel's    wondrous 

skill 
To  touch  that  instrument  with  art  and  will; 
With  him  winged  Poesy  doth  droop  and  die ;  — 
While  our  dull  age,  left  voiceless,  must  lament 
The  bard  high  Heaven  had  for  its  service  sent. 


